


Rude of You, Boy

by spindleofwords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Derek Hale, The Hale Pack - Freeform, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindleofwords/pseuds/spindleofwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles should just stay -Stiles- in Derek's eyes, he knows. If only that damned song following him around wasn't changing all of that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Incident

First: They were riding along in Stiles’ car the first time it happened. 

Derek was riding with Stiles back to the Hale house from their school, after lacrosse practice, mostly at Stiles’ insisting that he “not go skulking around the woods again, Coach’ll kill the next thing he thinks is in the woods.” Bored, the alpha looked out of the window and mostly tuned out Stiles’ meaningless chatter on Scott and how the other teen insisted he was indeed Batman over Stiles because Allison was his Catwoman and how Stiles thought that was completely unfair that he was denied the Dark Knight because of his lack of hot girlfriend.

It was actually pretty trivial, but as Stiles hit a high note in the rant and his voice cracked, Derek felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a quirk of a smile that he quickly stifled (it wouldn’t do to let Stiles think he actually tolerated him, because then all that fear Derek had built up would be in vain, and that had taken a lot of work to maintain properly).

Looking over from his seat near the window, Derek studied Stiles; at the age of seventeen the teen had grown into those lanky limbs of his, more a comfortable feeling of sprawling into his driver’s seat instead of the loose limbed spray that Stiles had started driving his baby with, a pile of arms and legs and angles and knees that just kind of fit in the small leather seat because the brunet willed it and not because of much else. The comfort in Stiles’ half frown as his mouth motored on made the Alpha sigh and settle a little more relaxed into his own seat; the brunet was like one of those alarm birds in the forests, voice loud and piping at the first sign or smell or thought, even, of danger, and when Stiles was calm (well, as calm as he ever got) then Derek knew he was okay, even if it was only for a moment, to be calm as well. 

Derek liked to hear Stiles’ chatter, and feel his slightly tensed, buzzing presence next to him; it was almost normal, the closest to normal Derek had with one single person besides possibly Isaac, and he enjoyed it almost as much as he couldn’t admit it to himself. As Stiles took a breath to start up again, a penetrating beat started to pour obnoxiously out of the tinny speakers in the struggling old Jeep and Stiles exclaimed delightedly, cranking up the volume knob with enthusiasm only Adderall could provide as his voice rose with the lyrics.

“Oh man, this is my _**song**_!!”

 

_\--Come here, rude boy, boy; can you get it up?_  
 _Come here rude boy, boy; is you big enough?_  
 _Take it, take it baby, baby_  
 _Take it, take it; love me, love me….!--_

 

Derek gaped at Stiles until the teen broke off with a defensive glare. “What? What? A man can’t appreciate Rihanna? What’s not to appreciate about Rihanna, I ask you, just look at her, she’s gorgeous and like, sex on a stick served warm or something, I don’t know, it’s just a song, stop looking at me like that.”

Derek snorted and looked back out of the window.

“It’s a stupid song. And I don’t like it.”

“Oh?”

Stiles sneered and turned the volume up even more.

 

_\--Do you like it? _  
 _Boy, I want, want, want whatchu want, want, want_  
 _Give it to me, baby like boom, boom, boom_  
 _What I want, want, want is what you want, want, want_  
 _Nah nah-ah—ah--...___

__

__Stiles sang loudly with a huge grin on his face, complete with shoulder sways and in-seat body rolls all the way to the house; and even as Derek made a face and slammed the door on his way out of the Jeep when they pulled up, Stiles hopped out in a stylized dance spin and an _obscene_ body wave before striding towards the door.  
Swallowing against a suspiciously dry mouth, the wolf huffed in annoyance and followed the sound of Stiles humming inside, eyes narrowed in irritation._ _

__Throughout the rest of the afternoon Stiles was singing that stupid song, and if Derek didn’t like it before he absolutely despised it now, those filthy words tumbling from Stiles’ mouth like they were natural but in a way that looked completely unnatural to Derek, _completely_ unnatural because he had never considered the possibility of those words from that mouth ever and now this song was forcing him to. _ _

__When Stiles finally left to drive home, cranking up the song on the radio _again_ as he sped away, Derek sighed and headed back inside, shutting the door on his new train of thought firmly enough that he could believe that he didn’t want to follow it down it’s given path. __


	2. Second Incident

Second: The second time, it was kind of an accident, but that didn’t make it excusable. 

Derek was injured, the blood pounding in his ears and his instinct on razor-edge, telling him he had to get to the safe place, had to keep going even though his body burned for him to stop and yield to the pain and black wisping on the edge of his vision. 

The injured alpha’s mind screamed a name amongst his other pleas of anguish of the wound and he nearly sobbed with relief when he crawled up the terrace and found the window open, rolling into Stiles’ room with a thump and a whimper. Stiles, who was lying on his bed belly down surfing his computer, cursed and jumped immediately off the bed, discarding his earphones and video, not liking the way blood drip-stained the white wifebeater Derek still had the shreds of on. 

“Fuck, Derek, come here, just come to the bed, come on---“

And Derek was too far gone to protest the order and demand of Stiles’ voice, the way it curled around him warmly and already eased some of his discomfort from the wound on his chest, so he heaved himself up and let Stiles guide him to the bed, collapsing heavily and ungracefully into the bedspread, chest facing the ceiling so he didn’t get blood all over Stiles’ sheets. Stiles only tsked and grabbed a kit from under the bed, cutting the wifebeater away with scissors that seemed to burn cold metal into skin before he soothed over it with a soft warm hand and an angry whisper.

“Shit, who the fuck---“

Derek growled even thinking about what had happened and Stiles’s eyes widened as he felt the grumble in Derek’s chest. Snatching his hand back hastily, the teen instead went to work on cleaning out the wound, swiping a cloth against it to clean it and then warning against the sting of the disinfectant before he dabbed that in, too. But the wound, jagged and ugly across Derek’s chest, kept bleeding with a stubborn sluggishness; Stiles cursed under his breath and got out his phone to call Deaton about wolfsbane. 

A little more clearheaded, Derek could feel his senses even out slightly and was surprised to hear a song playing in the background of the little room, a song that boomed obnoxiously into Derek’s awareness with obscenity. Struggling to concentrate on the song instead of passing out from the pain (shit, wolfsbane, the fucking hunters didn’t know when to quit, he hadn’t even been _looking_ for a fight), Derek rolled his eyes best he could at the computer because, really? 

He must have huffed or something, because the next thing he knows he’s got a smirking Stiles on his hands who’s rubbing some kind of….foul smelling something, an ointment of Deaton’s maybe, and Derek’s nose is picking apart the scent of wolfsbane with something else but his head is spinning too much to--- into the wound, one hand braced in the bed alongside Derek’s hip, and Stiles is fucking humming that stupid song. Then, Stiles is having him sit up and lean bodily against his thin torso while he wraps what seems like a mile of white gauzy bandage around and around Derek’s chest, pale-white to match the color of Stiles’ bare arms.

He catches a bit of the song that he can follow and realizes with dawning horror that he can think the lyrics in his head in time to the song. Why was his life like this? Derek’s stupid mind gets to _what I want, want, want is what you want, want, want_ , and then the smells and sounds start to hit him like a ton of bricks as his senses come back into full ability; he doesn’t have to struggle past the haze anymore to hear or think or smell.

So of course that means he can hear Stiles singing under his breath all too clearly as his hands smooth over the repaired skin on Derek’s chest; it means he is all of a sudden completely and uncomfortably aware of both Stiles’ close proximity and the fact that this song forces him, again, to realize that Stiles is…is…well. Is a danger to have too close to himself, obviously. So Derek pushes Stiles away with a gruff thanks and gets up to leave; he’s collecting his tattered remains on his shirt when Stiles put a hand (that same hand, Derek thinks, that same one that brushed over the skin of his chest and healed him) on his arm and asks quietly, “You okay?” 

And Derek nods, but Stiles sighs in exasperation and kind of tugs Derek around to face him, and Derek’s a scaredy-wolf who takes a step back because he doesn’t do this, doesn’t understand how to do these kinds of things, isn’t sure what kind of thing, exactly, this is. Stiles, on the other hand, is a working, thinking human, and takes a step forward, eyes catching Derek’s own with concern that makes Derek want something he doesn’t even know how to name, let alone voice. 

“You’re okay, Derek?”

Frozen, Derek numbly nods with a stiff spine and whatever Stiles sees in his eyes makes him release his somehow suffocating hold on Derek, eyes averting to his side wall with a huff and arms crossed.

“M’kay, then. Don’t go after fucking hunters by yourself again, though. Bring Boyd or Scott or someone with you.”  
Stiles’s tone is all business even if he’s not looking at Derek and Derek can only nod again before escaping back out of the window, the sound of _take it, take it; love me, love me,_ ringing in his ears.


	3. Third Incident

Third: The third way it happens, its Derek’s fault for noticing everything.

It was hell in the club even for muddling humans. For a werewolf, it was purgatory, and for an Alpha? Well, Derek didn’t want to go into that right now. At the moment he was camped out on one of the only unoccupied couches in the lounging area of the club under pretense of nursing a drink he’d long ago stopped caring for. His pack was having the time of their lives, to be sure, but as the sable haired man stretched and felt his shoulder pop, he had a sneaky-fast thought that sounded suspiciously like he might be getting too old for this kind of thing. 

Still, his pack had wanted a bonding night out on the town; and Derek wasn’t one to deny them anything that made them feel closer together, because all it could do was improve their teamwork. Even if it was kind of disturbing to see Jackson pressed between Lydia and Erica (until Boyd snatched Erica away).

In the hazy darkness of the club amidst seriously discombobulating flashing lights, Derek can see and smell and hear _everything_. And that’s what’s awful. The flashes are doing something horrible to his eyes, making them contract and dilate at each go, and it’s making the muscles around his eyes and his temples tight and cramped. 

Every small sound, Derek can pick up; his beer bottle was vibrating slightly as the bass pounded, there’s a girl to his left in the middle of…something with a friend making noises that he’d definitely rather not hear, the lights sizzled under the condensation of the heat and sweat, and…Stiles was singing. Not loudly, but low and sultry and…Derek scanned until he could make out Scott and Stiles dancing with two girls in a corner, mildly surprised to find them with anyone at all.

Scott was dancing a bit jerkily until the girl wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss that made the werewolf teen completely occupied, but Stiles? Stiles had this girl all wrapped around him, was murmuring lyrics to her with a wicked grin that made the bottle-dyed redhead blush and ask for more. The Alpha looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with this reminder, yet another, that Stiles was…well…not _just _Stiles. He was seventeen-and-slightly-confident Stiles.__

__And that…took some getting used to. Derek sighed and cradled his aching head in his hands. He wasn’t drunk—he hadn’t had nearly enough beer for all that, not remotely—but his head was killing him as the bass seemed to vibrate his skull, and the man growled helplessly as the DJ turned the music up even louder. The Alpha hadn’t even known that was possible, and was starting to regret coming inside and, Hunters and other creatures be damned, was thinking of making an escape to his car and just holding the night over in there until they headed for home; but then, the beat changed and Derek’s ears perked up in familiarity, though he strained for a second to recognize it through the ear splitting treble._ _

__\--Come here, rude boy, boy; can you get it up? _  
 _Come here rude boy, boy; is you big enough?—_ ___

__His eyes immediately found Stiles, and it took him a moment to realize that Stiles was staring right back, matching his own blue surprised gaze with a hazy look and half-masted eyes. The brunette was startled but quickly recovered even as Derek’s eyes widened slightly, and Stiles started to sing softly, his voice pitched low and shuddery and…dangerous._ _

___\--Do you like it? _  
 _Boy, I want, want, want whatchu want, want, want—_ ____

__The girl was still in his arms, and the pale skin of Stiles’s neck and arms were clearly visible under the dim lights, and he was dancing with her, his body moving in time to the beat and swaying close into the girl’s…but he was staring, staring hard at Derek, clearly issuing a challenge even as the girl slid her way up his body and whispered something about getting a room. Derek tried to avert his eyes, then, but Stiles winked and told the girl no gently, handing her off to some other guy clearly waiting for a go at her, and then disappeared towards the direction of the bar._ _

__With a slight frustrated sound, Derek sunk his head back into his hands, the pads of his fingers scraping rough against his scalp and the slight prickle of almost there claws digging into the skin. He was never going to get out of this alive._ _

__They did get out of the club eventually, and piled into their respective carpools, Jackson and Lydia sleeping in the back seat of the Camaro, and Scott, Boyd and Erica piled into Stiles’ Jeep. Not wanting to be the “human wheel,” as the teen complained, Stiles had handed off his keys to Scott and made a run for it, dashing across the parking lot to slip into Derek’s passenger seat, where he told Scott he’d at least have a chance to be the other weird one out with Derek._ _

__The sound of the car door opening had set Derek on edge initially but the smell and heartbeat he caught was the human’s, so he allowed his guard to come back down as the boy poured himself into the shotgun. Out of the corner of his eye Derek watched as Stiles relaxed into the seat as if he owned it, his body becoming loose-limbed and soft, his hard lines of tension bleeding out, and the sable haired man thought it might have been the singular most beautiful thing he had seen in a while until his eyes finished traveling upwards over Stiles’ torso and caught on Stiles’ steady, analyzing gaze._ _

__“Hey, Derek,” Stiles smiled happily, his mouth and lips stretching wide to fit his easy grin, “whatcha doin’?”_ _

__Derek rolled his eyes and started up the car, pulling out fast enough to make Stiles flail and grab for the handle of the car._ _

__“Driving.”_ _

__Stiles nodded apprehensively and Derek thought that his diversion as good enough to keep Stiles off the questions about this particular thing a while longer only to look over and see Stiles staring at him with that same easy grin that promised things Stiles shouldn’t have been able to promise._ _

__The rest of the ride home was silent._ _


	4. Fourth Incident

Fourth: The fourth time it happens, Derek has to wonder if maybe Stiles has always aimed to drive him out of his mind, or if it was an occupational hazard from hanging around the damn teenager. 

Stiles proffers up the gift with a smile that’s all shark teeth, something sharp and razor edged and predatory in a way a human shouldn’t ever really be. It reminds him of all the other smiles he’s seen on the other teens, which it really shouldn’t because every single one of the others was a creature of the night and Stiles, Stiles was not. 

To be sure, maybe Derek should have been suspicious when Stiles urged him to put in the headphones and press play.

As Derek put the headphones in his ear and found the device pre-loaded with music that blasted at an uncomfortable level for even a stupidly deaf human such as the brunette, he could maybe concede that while Stiles wasn’t a creature of the night he damn well was evil as he waggled his eyebrows sitting across the way in the den of the station and that _stupid_ , _**stupid ******_song blasting his eardrums to shreds. Snarling, Derek ripped the headphones out and threw the small box the iPod had come in at Stiles, smirking as it hit the pale boy squarely in the temple.

Stiles, predictably, had flinched and then flailed, pouting, “Hey, hey, sourwolf, dammit, I thought you’d appreciate good music for a change. Gotta keep you up with the times, old man, just trying to do you some good!”

The last bit of it was nearly shrieked as Stiles took off and ran, Derek setting down the iPod to bound after the teen and chase him around the station a little, letting Stiles get worked up into laughter that stole his breath away and made him shaky on his legs so that eventually the teenager collapsed on Scott, face red and happy in way that it wouldn’t have been if Derek had given into a primal urge and actually caught Stiles.

As Derek relaxed into the couch again, not even breathing hard, he noticed Erica and Lydia staring him down and glared right back, sobering up quickly in demeanor; still, his voice was a little tender when he told Stiles, “Thanks. I guess.”

And Stiles’ face looked like so satisfied it was hard to even be mad at the kid.

Or, the kid who wasn’t a kid; Derek didn’t have to remind himself of that, it was being brought up for him daily, laid out on full display right there for Derek to see and torture himself with. It was awful to see Stiles shoot him bedroom eyes with just the right hint of light that promised experience, it was agonizing to watch his pack go at it on frolicky days when the boys all stripped off their shirts and wrestled a little and Lydia and Allison sat with her iPod and guitar and Erica and sometimes Isaac sat with Derek and just watched everyone be happy, for once; it was _agonizing_ because Stiles, shirtless and sweaty and laughing, would come over and tug at Derek’s wrists, tease him, jest with him and cajole him into taking part until before he knew it he was pinned on one side by Jackson and Scott by the other and Stiles was tussling with Boyd nearly right on top of them.

Squirmy pup that he was, all the damn time, so much energy and light that Derek was afraid to touch him and darken it, ruin it. 

He could remember all too clearly the age gap between Kate and himself. Derek had tried very hard not lead Stiles on once he’d figured out the other’s crush, but Stiles was a stubborn bastard and went ahead whether a sign was there or not. Still, the biggest thing that stayed Derek’s hand was not some all-epic love for Stiles, and it wasn’t because Stiles was so young (because that wasn’t it, anymore), no, it was because every time he even thought about it he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Stiles had willed himself into adoration for the older man much the way he’d once done for Kate Argent, and it disturbed him enough to never touch what he wanted, not even once.  
But Stiles was having none of it, none of the excuses or the ignorance or the halfhearted declarations of friendship, and Derek didn’t know how or when Stiles had gotten so good at reading his eyes but it had to stop at some point, because the man couldn’t take it anymore.

 

The earphones were good quality, soft in his ear and contouring to the inside of the shell so that he could barely hear anything else. Derek both loved and hated them at the same time. It was slightly terrifying not being able to hear his surroundings and yet, sometimes it was a blessing. A mixed bag of blessings, but a blessing nonetheless. It was easier to study, Derek found, if he put one song on with a steady beat and meaningless words on repeat, and for that Derek was very grateful; he didn’t know any himself, but Rihanna worked just fine, and he’d never tell Stiles but it had the most plays on his playlists.

But not being able to hear? Derek had a constant, nagging fear something nasty would take him by surprise if he kept in the earphones too long. 

He was right, of course.

Stiles had chosen to slip into the station when Derek was occupied, and while Derek could smell the cookies Stiles had brought with him, they covered his scent just enough for the wolf to think that it was possibly another one of his pack bringing him a plate of treats Stiles had made. But when Derek looked up and found Stiles sitting calmly on a chair he felt his heart rate spike sharply and then settle into a fast staccato beat.

“Stiles.”

The teen smiled, offering a cookie.

“Hey, Derek. Glad to see you’re putting your gift to good use.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he took the baked good from the pale hand offering and most decidedly did not shiver a little as their fingers brushed.

“Only to drown all of you ridiculous kids out.”

Instead of pouting or flailing, Stiles only fixed Derek with a steady look.

“I think we both know I’m not a kid, Derek. Or am I reading that wrong?”

And, well, shit, Derek wasn’t prepared to deal with this right now. He set aside his book and walked a little ways away from the boy, pacing, only to come face to face with Stiles as he turned. The teen laid a solid hand on his chest and tightened his fingers in his shirt, and Derek felt like a trapped animal, knowing his eyes were shot wide open and blue enough to show himself but Stiles only crowded further into his space.

“Stiles, maybe you need to think about---“

His hand came up to grip at the cool, dry hand in his shirt and Derek frowned at the way Stiles just pulled him closer. 

_“You_ need to stop thinking so damn much.”

Derek sighed and forced his eyes away from Stiles’ gaze, running a hand through his spiky black hair.

“Stiles. I know you think you want something, but you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Stiles’ voice when he spoke was one of the most enticing and sincere things he’d ever had to withstand and nearly broke him.

“Derek, I…I have thought about it, yes. But I don’t know what I’m getting into, no. I don’t, but I…I trust you enough to take a chance. With you, I mean.”

An exhale punched out of him in frustration and Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, pulling it away from his shirt gently. 

“You shouldn’t. I…Stiles, do you trust yourself? Have you ever sat down and tried to think about this, fully, all the way through? Do you…” here, Derek pulled away from the smaller male, hand slipping from the other with little resistance as Derek backed away a couple of steps, “do you know, really, what you want? I don’t think you do.”

“I know exactly what I want, Derek!”

It was mean, he knew it, but Derek scoffed and bit out harshly, “Just because you think you wanna get fucked by me does not mean you know what you want.”

And Stiles never did know how to do what Derek wanted him to; he got angry, yes, cheeks colored red and eyes snapping with fury, but all the teen did was step closer, fast, closing the space Derek had deliberately put between them, and _reach_ for him, both hands in his shirt now, fisted there so that a little breeze blew past a strip of Derek’s skin with every shake Stiles gave him.

“I don’t want to get fucked by you!”

Wincing, Stiles rolled his eyes and let go, choosing instead to cross his arms, fingers gripping tight at his shirtsleeves.

“I mean, yeah, okay, fine, that’s part of it, but Jesus Derek, that’s only, just, it’s only a part of it, I want other stuff too, I want to---to---be able to take care of you and be with you and maybe stay here some nights and---“

Derek quickly tamped down a small flare of hope that physically burned his chest and crossed his own arms as well, his voice cool and unfeeling as he pointed out, “You do that already.”

Stiles literally snarled at him, and in the back of his mind the Alpha wondered if maybe the human had been spending too much time with werewolves.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

And Derek had never heard Stiles’ voice like this before, a cold and harsh tone that stomped like steel and shut down the walls Derek was trying to throw up like cannonfire at wooden gates. Moving to take another step back, the sable headed werewolf froze when Stiles’ whole demeanour changed again and he also took another step to match Derek’s, his voice pleading.

“At least stop running away from me.”

Closing his eyes against the sight of Stiles’ hurt and angry eyes, Derek turned away and began to stride towards another part of the station. 

“I can’t. Not when you don’t have enough sense to stay away for yourself.”


	5. Fifth Incident

Five: The fifth time it's not even the song properly but it's the way the song shows Stiles.

Derek only really realizes how hard Stiles is taking it when he hears Stiles laugh at some stupid show re-run on a Saturday night and the older man's eyes widen at the unfamiliar sound twined through the stupid, stupid beat of that goddamned song on some stupid comic routine. He hasn’t heard it long and loud and pure like that in at least three weeks, and when Derek thinks back over the last couple of weeks he can see this rising sense of unease in himself, and what's even worse is that if he thinks a little harder he realizes that he can see a disturbing trend of the crescent of the teen's smile dimming and dimming until it wasn’t there anymore. 

Stiles isn't exactly brooding; he has too much energy to be a dark cloud for long. No, it's more that Stiles will smile and nod and then fall into a trance-y listlessness, zoning out for literally hours, forgetting to eat, not even surfing his computer. They're little things, like when Derek sets down a plate for Stiles and the teen looks surprised to see something he has to digest, or like the last time he had to stop by the teen's house for something, Derek found him lying in his bed staring up at his ceiling doing nothing, which scared Derek more than anything because Stiles wasn't ever doing just _nothing,_ it was impossible for something wound so tight to ever be doing nothing at all. But Stiles doesn’t even look like he's breathing, through the pane of glass, and if Derek taps just a little too hard on the transparent surface it's only because its showing him something straight out of wonderland, nothing like a true reflection of Stiles at all, and it's not to see the brunet jump into action, not remotely.

And little they may be but there's quite a number of them up to the point that his pack, -his- pack, sits him down and Scott is present, they're doing this at McCall's house even though he's not pack and he's looking at the Alpha wearily, sighing before he mutters, "Dammit, Derek, you can see it, just like us. What the fuck are you doing?"

All he can do is look at Scott helplessly. He doesn't know, either.

Scott and the rest of his pack (his fucking pack, dammit) all collapse into a sort of dejected sigh all at once, and Derek is tired, just tired, and Stiles pads into the room yawning sleepily, saying something about he knows it's a pack meet but he's so tired and he totally fell asleep over Scott's computer upstairs, would it be cool if he just left?

And then Stiles doesn't even stick around to say goodbye to Scott or Erica or even Lydia, just continues to walk out on drowsy steps until everyone, struck silent by the sheer strangeness of it all, can hear Baby try her damnedest to turn over once, twice, and finally get it at three, rumbling and grumbling as it backs out of the driveway and onto the road, gunning down the street as the headlights flash past the windows.

Derek knows they should talk. He knows he should man up and say something to the kid (no, not a kid, not with the way that he was bearing arms under the pressure of heartbreak) but he can't...he has never been good at this and has no, no, no idea where to even begin. Derek doesn't do relationships; it's an obvious sign that he shouldn't ever be in a relationship at all, since the last time he trusted someone they slaughtered his entire family.

Yeah, he knows how to pick 'em, obviously.

Objectively on some higher level Derek knows that Stiles could never do anything remotely like that (they were family, they were his family too, he would never, he _couldn't_ ), but a wolf has always thought with its instincts first and he can't help the darkness that bubbles up in his chest that makes him want to break Stiles so he can put the teen back together again and mark up every piece while he does, that's his first instinct when he takes in Stiles's -scent- and he knows that's a very bad instinct to have. It's hard enough to control when he's not even thinking about it; its torture when it's -all- he can think about. So it's impossible, he reasons, for him to sit Stiles down and talk to him.

(He wants Stiles so badly it constricts his chest on every breath because his scent isn't on it.)

It takes Derek another week longer to see how Stiles won't let anyone touch him. 

The brunet shrinks from Scott's friendly arm around the shoulders, smiles and backs away from Erica's teasing smiles, ducks scowling from Jackson's stupid ribbing, and when Derek makes a purely experimental grab for Stiles, aiming to grab him by the shirt or neck, Stiles is out of reach as quick as you please by only an inch or two, nothing too suspicious but still undeniably there, and dimly Derek can hear a terrifying growl that made him shake when he was a beta still, and his brain only catches up to the present where **he's** the Alpha after he's got Stiles by the back of his neck, feeling the hot hot flush of the teen against the palm of his hands and the tips of his claws as he drags the mostly dead weight out of the station and to Baby. Ah, well...Derek didn't exactly mean to wolf out in this situation but it was too late, now that he had Stiles pinned against the door of his Jeep, for him to feel too sorry about it. Instead, Derek can clearly identify anger pumping through him fast as blood as Stiles ducks his head and nearly whispers, "You gonna kick me out now?"

His voice is so forlorn and lost that Derek desperately wants the impractical, impossible, hyper, laughing Stiles back with something akin to obsessiveness before he can shove it back and out of the forefront of his mind.

"Fuck, Stiles---"

The teen flinches at the word and reaches a limp hand to rest on Derek's hand fisted in his hoodie.

"Let go."

Derek feels that grumble start up in the back of his throat again, his wolf outraged that the pup in front of him doesn't even know enough to cower when he hears the noise. But at the same time he wants to make the smell of heartbreak and tension disappear; Derek hates it because it doesn't smell like Stiles, nothing like him, no, instead it smells like the ghost of whatever has been calling itself Stiles for the past couple weeks and Derek can only stand it for so long. 

And before he can allow himself to think too hard about it, Derek leans forward and noses at the hinge of the teen's jaw, the rumble fading to a softer near-whine that makes Stiles shudder and his chin fall back submissively and his body fall boneless and his heart palpitate even as tears stream down his face and he whispers, "No, Derek, please, _don't."_

Stiles is shaking, taking shallow small breaths as he leans his weight against the blue door of the Jeep, his red hoodie a stark contrast to the pale metallic blue as Stiles slumps there, eyes squinched shut like he hurts every time his heart pumps laboriously. Derek pulls back, taking deep breaths, and makes sure his grip doesn't loosen as Stiles turns and tries to squirm loose. (In a detached way Derek notices this is the most lively he's seen Stiles in nearly a month.) 

His fist tightens and tightens in the fabric of Stiles's hoodie as the tears start to fall thicker and Stiles is ever more eager to be anywhere but near Derek, fighting his grip and fingers trying to grasp his claws to break their hold and desperate, desperate tears now, more and more, and he can feel threads start to rip and part under his claws so instead he grabs Stiles by the hips and Stiles lets out a pained sob.

"Let go, let go, let me go, Derek, dammit, leave me alone---"

Derek growled again in a rather more human sounding voice but it's enough to make Stiles freeze and blink wide brown teary eyes at him, and his own voice is low and thick and still rumbly like thunder when he says lowly, "No. I shouldn't have left you alone to begin with, Stiles."

He can hear when Stiles ceases to breathe and the brunet's heart picks up from double time to a pattern to so fast and staccato it sounds like the Camaro when she's revved up and ready to go. Stiles is like prey in his grip, frozen and pinned under his gaze, chest heaving when he remembers to breathe and pale cheeks (pale, so pale, unhealthy) shiny with salt and drying tears, and Derek wants to help, wants to fix it but doesn't know how, doesn't have much experience in fixing his fuck-ups until much much later when they come back to take a chunk out of his ass. Still, he thinks he can maybe do this, and he brings up a hand to shakily wipe away some of the wetness smeared over the sharp cheekbones, heart skipping to his throat as Stiles's eyes flutter close and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The salt is drying on his fingertips before Stiles licks his lips and breathes, "What are you doing?"

The Alpha presses closer just a step, feeling his own pulse jackrabbit up to match the human's, and he feels like he has five chain mail shirts on at once and it shouldn't be this hard to breathe at all, much less say what he needs to say but it's hard, anyways.

"I know what I want; I want what you want, Stiles."

That isn't nearly enough, it's not enough to say everything he needs to, to tell Stiles how worried he's been and how sad he's been and how he wished and wished and wished every day after that he could take the words back because he meant them but he was only trying to protect Stiles and it didn't work out that way, it didn't work the way he planned for it to, not even a little. 

Still, it’s worth everything to hear Stiles’s breath hitch and see the pulse jump in his throat as he swallows hard and meets his gaze stare for stare, his voice nothing more than a breath. 

“Yeah? How do you know what I want?”

Derek shrugs. This, he can do, this back and forth that they’ve always had.

“I don’t. But I figure you’re the genius here, you’ll figure something out.”

Stiles cracks something that looks like a fragment of a smile before reaching out tentatively, hesitantly. It takes a million lifetimes that Derek sees flash in his head and feels burn along his skin as he watches the teen’s hand come up between them and slowly but very firmly grasp the nape of his neck, sending a rush of heat down his spine that pools at the base when fingers graze against his scalp.

“You done running, Derek?”

He’s older than this upstart, old enough for it to matter, older enough for it to make a difference, and old enough that his mouth shouldn’t go dry when Stiles makes something akin to bedroom eyes (but they’re that and oh so much more, something deep and hungry and voracious) at him. His throat crackly, he clears his throat and feels the frog jump out of his throat and land in his stomach only to start doing flips.

“Yeah, Stiles. Yeah.”


	6. Sixth Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut if you're not into it. Warning right here :)

Sixth:

The sixth time, the beat is only thing he can focus on.

The beat is the pounding of his blood through his veins, fitting close, so close, to the beat of that damn song in his head as Stiles pulls back from his soul crushing kiss and looks at him way too soberly for the intensity of what just happened, twining close to ask, “You big enough?”

 

It’s not mocking, for all that Stiles is half singing some crappy song; instead, Stiles just looks and looks at him, eyes somber.

 

And that’s it, just like that Derek is done, done with waiting and being nice and not taking what he goddamn pleases. His hands are tight enough to bruise, the nails sharpening slightly into tips as he slams Stiles into the door of the bedroom and presses his entire body up against the younger man’s. Stiles has a moment to breathe air and then Derek is claiming those lips and mouth as his own, putting all of his frustration and worry and exasperation into fueling the kiss so he doesn’t need to break for air, just needs to feel the click of Stiles’s teeth against his own as the kiss turns rough, needs to feel the slide of the brunet’s tongue against his own, needs to hear the small, hurt whimpers that Stiles is making like he can’t get close enough quick enough.  


Derek swallows those down, figuring how to twist his tongue just so to get Stiles to make an even louder sound than a whimper, and when Derek brushes against the roof of Stiles’s mouth and curls up his fist in the side of Stiles’s shirt, the teen breaks away and arches against the door with the loudest sound yet, a small moan that reverberates in Derek’s inner ear and has the wolf addicted, instantly. 

Stiles is more alive in this moment then Derek can remember seeing for the past couple of weeks and it’s invigorating, the way Stiles is everywhere all at once with long loose limbs grabbing and grabbing at him. Stiles seems like he needs air even less than Derek does, letting the Alpha get an inch or two away to suck in a breath and then hauling him right back, their lips spit-slick and slotting together. Derek bites at Stiles’ lips just to pull back and see them puffy and red; it surprises him when he goes in for another kiss and Stiles nips down on his bottom lips and _pulls_ , arching away and making Derek follow. It’s hot, Jesus it’s hot, and Derek feels frantic when he tries to pull off Stiles’ shirt and realizes he’s ripped the back of it to shreds with wolfed-out nails instead of tugging on it like he’d been trying to.

Stiles, ever surprising, presses his chest into Derek’s when he feels pinprick points along his back where the werewolf’s hands are, and pushes his body in a full roll against the older man when Derek, curious, presses down with his nails again. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles is gasping, gasping for air, and his hair is hanging in his face, and he twists even closer as Derek does it again. “Oh god, Derek, please, please.”  


He only just manages to bite back a growl that stills comes out at half strength, the lycanthrope’s vision filled of flashes of pale skin as Stiles moves against him, his shirt fluttering. Derek’s only catching snatches and small glimpses of everything up close, like the bob of Stiles’s Adam’s apple, and the bead of sweat rolling down from the teen’s temple, and the ragged edges of the blue shirt brushing softly at Stiles’s arms as he pushes forward and pulls back in a steady, devastating rhythm. He hates it, because though he could keep his hands on Stiles for days and days and he’s glad (happy, too happy, desperately happy) to have Stiles any way he can get him, he wants to see all of his emissary, all of him, bared completely. 

*******

Stiles squeaks in surprise when Derek hauls him up in a fireman’s carry and tosses him on his bed-- _it had been such a feat to get them both to Derek’s safely with Stiles driving with shaky hands and Derek’s hands clenched in tight fists on his thighs, both of them vibrating with the need to touch to kiss to--_ but the brunette looks at him with nothing but steady understanding as his sure hands strip the torn shirt from his shoulders and he unfastens his jeans, unconsciously licking his bottom lip as the zipper echoes in the room, mingled with the harsh sound of hard breathing. 

Temptation has been nothing but a motherfucker to Derek, if he could go that far, so when all he wants to do is tug Stiles’s jeans off for him, he goes and fucking does just that, hands scrabbling at thin ankles before the Alpha catches hold of the fabric and pulls. The brush of denim is fast and rough and Stiles keens at it, plainly wanting Derek’s touch to replace the scrape of fabric. Always gracious, Derek runs his hands up Stiles’s calves and uses his grip to tug the teen into his lap, manhandling the pale young man onto his knees so that he can pluck at the waistband of the teen’s boxers and hear him whine. It gets even better when Stiles tugs and tugs at the hem of his shirt until Derek pulls it over his head and the teen just freezes, his lower lip caught between his teeth before he breathes out this punchy little sigh and grabs for him again with even more urgency. 

Hearing Stiles’s voice keen for him is nothing compared to the full moan he’s gifted with when his fingers grip the underside of the teen’s knees and his fingers press up against an apparently sensitive spot. Soft noises escaping from his throat, Derek slams on the brakes and lets his hand just stroke behind Stiles’s knee, pulling away from their kiss to nuzzle at the pale young man’s neck and ear and jaw. Stiles is shaking in his lap, trembling, hands pushing and pulling in equal force like he can’t decide whether he wants Derek to come close or to stop torturing him. And Derek works him through it, soft kisses that were no less heated as he bears him down to the bed, one hand still maddeningly rubbing at Stiles’s skin, and on his back the teen finally gives up fighting and goes limp, shuddering with every press of Derek’s fingertips. 

He isn’t even talking anymore, Derek realizes; he’s barely even making coherent noises, just a continuous whine coming from his throat, and the Alpha pushes himself up on one elbow to watch Stiles’s throat and mouth work, watch his chest rise and fall in stuttering, hesitating breaths, watch the minute tremble in Stiles’s arms and legs as Derek holds up one of Stiles’s legs in his grip. He gets lost in the dynamism of Stiles’s reactions until Stiles’s starts to squirm, his voice broken and raspy as he pleads, “Mmm, Derek, _please,_ stop it—“

Derek is fully aware that he might be a bad person for teasing Stiles so much and he honestly doesn’t care at all. He carefully lets his nails grow pointed and pulls away his touch even more, so that just the points of the nails are brushing that spot on Stiles’s leg. The teen cries out and tries to pull away and Derek takes a moment to admire his handiwork before he wraps a warm hand around both of Stiles’s wrists and pins him neatly. Stiles is making noises that almost sound like sobs now, his breath coming harder and harder. 

“De-rek!”

It’s the way he always says the lycanthrope’s name, with exasperation, putting extra letters and frustration into one tiny word, but this time it’s imploring and dirty and Derek chuckles, leaning in close so that his mouth brushes against Stiles’s ear when he talks, his hand traveling around his knee and up the teen’s side to slide over his ribs and back down to a spot on his hip that makes Stiles flinch again.

“D’you really want me to stop, Stiles?”

His hand pauses, and he takes his touch from the warm body laid out before him. The teen takes a big gulping breath but soon starts to squirm when it becomes clear that Derek’s not putting his hands back on him any time soon. Wide brown eyes turn in a slight panic to meet Derek’s blue ones.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant…”

The smile that stretches across Derek’s face is not nice and he knows it. Stiles does, too, from the way he shivers is any indication. The thumb of his other hand stroking the base of Stiles’s wrists, Derek looked down at the teenager until Stiles met his scrutiny, his smile softening when Stiles mans up enough to meet his eyes. 

“What do you want from me, Stiles?”

His voice has a physical effect on his partner; a full body shiver travels down Stiles’s spine and makes him arch off the bed, and the wolf can see it, clearly. Still, Derek waits patiently until Stiles says, small and wondering and hesitant, “Could you…could you fuck me? I…”

Derek nuzzles the junction between Stiles’s jaw and neck and breathes, “Yes. If you’ll let me.”

Stiles wrenches his hands free from his partner’s grasp and wraps them around Derek’s neck, one going to the nape of his neck to pull at the hair there. Frantically, as Stiles’s starts to bite and lick at the wolf’s throat, he mumbles, “Fuck, yeah, I’d let you, I’ll let you, of course, _come on._ ”


	7. Seventh: A Continuation of the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last and final part!

Never one to disappoint, Derek wraps his hands around Stiles’s hips and positions the teen underneath him, Stiles hanging on for dear life around Derek’s neck, kissing his jaw and cheek and ears and mouth, and when he’s where the wolf wants him Derek cups Stiles’s cheek in his hand and slows down his kisses into filthy-hot sucks and tongue crossing. He hums deep in his throat with content as he gets more aggressive with his kisses and Stiles doesn’t back down passively but amps up too, biting at Derek’s lower lip and sucking on his tongue with fervor that Derek can’t ever hope to match. When he backs off for air, Stiles is pushing at the ball of his shoulder while sucking on his collarbone, setting his teeth to the bone before Derek gets the hint and rolls onto his back. Stiles follows greedily, his mouth leading a trail down Derek’s chest (detouring to lick at his nipples, which makes Derek’s hands clench up and his breath come short) and down further, licking and nipping at his abdomen until Stiles gets to his hipbones. There, Stiles is biting down swiftly before Derek can do anything about it, a bruise forming underneath the human’s teeth.

“Stiles…” His tone is a warning, and the cheeky teenager just looks up at Derek and licks his lips, grinning. 

“You taste good. No wonder werewolves wanna eat humans on full moon night; yummy.”

Derek feels his brows furrow and he starts to reach for Stiles to pull him back up where he belongs, where Derek can get at his mouth, but then Stiles winks and has his mouth on the bulge in his jeans before Derek can do anything and he can’t help the way his body sags under the feeling. Stiles’s mouth is working feverishly at the outline of his cock in his jeans, licking and sucking and nuzzling, his teeth closing gently as Stiles laps at denim. It shouldn’t be hot, his jeans in the way and too many clothes on and not enough of Stiles’s skin touching him, but the idea that Stiles wants to taste him so badly that he’s sucking at the taste through Derek’s jeans makes Derek groan. 

Stiles finally seems to remember his hands, and he wastes no time in grabbing at the waistband of Derek’s jeans, unbuttoning them and unzipping them so fast Derek knows Stiles is going to have red marks on his fingertips. But the teen doesn’t even seem to notice; instead his hands bunch in the fabric as he tugs it down, down, over Derek’s knees and his feet, and then Stiles is settling back between Derek’s knees hungrily. His boxers have a definitive wet spot on them, one that could maybe put Stiles’s to shame, but the teen just whines a little and licks at the spot, Derek’s cock twitching under the light touch. 

“Jesus Derek; is all this for me?”

His voice is that strange hybrid of the regular Stiles voice and the not-a-kid anymore Stiles voice and Derek doesn’t know what to do but reply. His own voice sounds like he’s been gargling rocks but it makes Stiles arch a little, all the same.

“S’not for anyone else. You sure you know what to do with it?”

The unspoken _kid_ trails behind his teasing statement like a challenge, and defiantly Stiles’s eyes narrow and he’s wasting no time getting Derek’s boxer’s off, either. The teen takes a moment to admire Derek, the thickness and length; Derek’s not built too shabbily, and his dick reflects that. It’s not noticeably long, but it’s thick, and from the look in his eye, Stiles approves. He starts out slow, mouthing and kissing at the head, tonguing the slit lazily, and when Stiles sucks on a spot just under the head Derek tenses up and the teenager snickers. In one easy move he takes the entire head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, and he plays with it a little before letting it pop out of the circle of his lips, his hand stroking the base gently. 

“Stiles…” Derek growls, warning, but he keeps forgetting that he is not bedding a Stiles of two years ago who would be nervous in a bedroom. Instead, he is having sex with a confident Stiles, and that’s why when Stiles growls back in response and take him all in his mouth in one slick, practiced swallow, Derek realizes he should be more accommodating in a distant part of his mind that’s not focused on the picture of Stiles on his knees with Derek’s dick in his mouth.

Derek lets Stiles suck him until he can’t stand it anymore, the tension riding tight and low in his abdomen, curling out in spiking waves every so often as Stiles brushes his tongue over the bundle of nerves under the head of the werewolf’s cock. It’s almost too good, Derek bucking into the heat of it until he remembers that as much as he’d like to fuck Stiles, it’s not through the teen’s mouth, exactly, that he wants to be doing it. 

Derek is probably a little, teensy, way too rough when he grips Stiles’s hair tight in one hand to yank him off of his own dick, but from the way those pretty swollen lips open on a groan, he can’t find it within his emotions to feel too bad about it. Instead, he hauls Stiles up the bed into his arms and rolls him over easily, mouth slotting into the teen’s with a ferocity Derek will blame on his wolf later but really is just his own eagerness showing with blinding colors. After a long minute of heated slip and slide of wet tongues and one memorable moment of Stiles pushing himself up on his elbows to push into Derek’s mouth like he was going to take control of the kiss—please, as if— the man with inky hair pulls back and bites at Stiles’s neck for bit before heaving himself away, panting, the rise of his chest matching Stiles’s underneath of him. 

“Can I—“

Stiles only nods frantically, looking almost like a bobblehead but instead of plastic eyes his chestnut pupils are almost covered in the black centre of the pupil and are so wide Derek thinks he might hurt himself. However, the pop of the lube cap makes those eyes even more impossibly wider, ridiculously so, and Derek has to lean over and kiss Stiles just because, to see those eyes slip close in hazy lust that Derek can smell coming off of the lithe pale body in fucking _waves_. Wet against his hand, the gel take a minute to warm up against his fingers but he’s not so cruel as to brush them against Stiles cold, unsure if his partner could even stand the amount of stimulation the temperature difference would provide. He can be patient enough in this at least, and when the lube is warm he trails a teasing, questioning finger up Stiles’s ass and watches Stiles try to roll his hips into the touch.

“Derek, oh god, if you don’t put something in me right this second I swear to every wolfsbane plant I know of in this godforsaken town I’m going to murder you and no one is gonna be able to find the body, not a single person…”

The tirade the teen’s built up trails off in a moan as Derek nips at his earlobe in punishment and slips a finger into him, wiggling gently to get up to the first knuckle. Stiles immediately goes limp on the bed, his hands fisting and loosening in the sheets as Derek makes his way into Stiles slowly, not wanting to hurt him. But the hole around his finger, it’s relaxing, it’s loose in a way that makes Derek growl at the thought of it but something he dismisses until Stiles groans, “Come on, come the fuck on, I’ve done this before, I want two of them, give me two,” and Derek snarls, shoving his first finger all the way in and taking it out to tease at the rim before shoving back in again. 

“You’ve done this before? Stiles…”

He knows his voice is a low warning but he can’t help, any more than he can help the fact that Stiles is staring up at him with a desperately frightened but aroused face at what he can only assume are his red eyes. 

“Shit, _a-ah_ , Derek, I’m s-sorry, I w-wanted to be—umf—good at this for you, I—ah, ah!”

Derek works in his index finger alongside his middle finger and keeps up his ruthlessly slow and punishing pace, crooking his fingers to find the bundle of nerves that has Stiles keening and arching off the bed, shouting curse words. The wolf bends low, his chest brushing Stiles’s as he works his fingers in and out, his mouth close to Stiles’s ear. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re mine, Stiles. Not anyone else’s. I guess I’ll just have to mark you well enough that you remember.” 

The bite the accompanies the word mark makes Stiles grab desperately for him, his mouth blindly seeking Derek’s, whispering little apologies as he kisses Derek over and over again and in between the contact Derek manages to slip another finger into Stiles, kissing him back just as desperately, wanting his partner to know that it was okay, it was fine, they could get past that, he had Stiles now and it was all that mattered.

When Derek finally pushes home, it doesn’t matter that he has on a condom and Stiles can’t feel the slide of skin on skin, or that Stiles is strung out on kisses and touches and is only three or four thrusts from coming; all that matters is the way Derek grips the brunet’s thighs and pull him close, bottoming out with a slow circle of his hips before pulling out slowly and fucking back in on short, tight thrusts that leave Stiles barely able to breathe for feeling so good.

He’s loud, he knows he’s loud during sex, but Derek feels so good and is hitting that spot within him every other time, and Stiles can’t do anything but make sound, his voice making whimpers and moans and keens and these stupid, “oh, oh, oh” like he’s surprised at how good it feels but he’s not, really. And when Stiles pushes himself up and hooks his arms around Derek, one around his neck and the other under his arm and clenching at his muscle-corded back, Derek arches into the feeling of Stiles scratching down his back and thrusts harder at the idea of Stiles marking him up so he can be Stiles’s, too.

Stiles hangs in a little longer than he expected to, long enough that Derek goes from short, tight thrusts to pulling him close and just going for it, pulling out so the head is stretching his rim and driving back into him, faster and faster, and the grunts that Derek’s making right into his ear are so good, so perfect, because before anything else _Stiles_ is what is getting Derek off and the thought makes Stiles tense up around his werewolf, coming so hard he feels come drip off the bottom of his chin and sees it drip off of Derek’s jaw. Before he can think about it, Stiles leans in and licks off his come from Derek’s skin, biting and sucking at the place after he’s done cleaning it, and then he’s yelping as Derek all but throws him down and starts to thrust into him erratically, his pace punishing but too good—

“Please, Derek, let go for me, come on, I need that, come on, come on…”

Both of Stiles’s arms are wrapped about Derek’s neck now, flat on his back as Derek pushes and pushes into him and making these breathy sounds because Derek’s just using him, pinning him down helplessly, and fuck if his dick wasn’t trying to make a second go of it because it’s hot to be pinned under the damn Alpha, it is, and when Derek comes he doesn’t shout but he breathes out Stiles’s name against his neck and clenches up, fingernails digging into Stiles’s shoulders in a way that makes Stiles whine. 

\---

After, they lay in Derek’s bed and Derek holds Stiles in his arms gently, kissing at the slope of his neck. Stiles murmurs a little and turns like it’s hard for him to convince his body to even breathe on pace at the moment. 

“We’re gonna be disgusting in the morning, Derek.”

Derek only chuckles and pulls Stiles closer to him, his chin resting on soft hair.

“Yeah? Maybe we’ll take a shower together then.”

Stiles kisses his collarbone for that, so he figures it’s an okay idea. He chuckles fondly when Stiles’s next words are sleep slurred, voice low and hoarse as Stiles manages, “Tha’s a plan f’r mornin’, okay boss man?”

Derek nods against Stiles’s heat and the younger man smiles drowsily and slips off to sleep, leaving Derek to tighten his arms around his partner briefly before going to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thanks to all of you who waited so long to get this from me! I'm going to be doing some re-editing of this story soon, so if you've got any ideas or concrit please, leave me a comment, I need all the help I can get~ 
> 
> (Mostly, I'll be doing the tenses and perhaps adding a bit of length to some middle chapters. If there's anything at all that you think should be in this story that I haven't done right, please, please, /please/ tell me! I want your ideas :D)

**Author's Note:**

> So the stupid stupid italicization isn't freaking working, you guys, anybody who reads this. I won't beg for reviews or anything, this is just an apology for my formatting being off because -ugh- it doesn't look right.  
> So I'm sorry :/


End file.
